Campfire Stories on the Road
by Sayberry
Summary: Campfire Stories can sometimes define and other times reveal our hearts and the roots that define our character. Or, they can just be entertaining.
1. Chapter 1: Table of Contents

Campfire Stories

_**Please be advised that while most of the characters and situation have come from my own imagination, the universe in which they are set and any characters that are mentioned even if in passing reference are the intellectual property of their original authors**_. _**I claim no rights to their property in any way. This collection of stories is a celebration for the wonderful memories their beautiful universes have engendered in me and nothing more..**_

Ch 1: This Table of Contents

Ch 2: The Old Knights Tale.

Ch 3: The Hunter of Dun Modr.

Ch 4: The Rescue.

Ch 5: The Enchanted Palace.

Ch 6: The Last Time.

Ch 7: Fierce Intensity.

Ch 8: Working for Breakfast.

Ch 9: Blades Edge

Ch 10: Lovers Dance


	2. Chapter 2: The Old Knights' Tale

The old Knight sat there near the fireplace. It was his favorite spot at the Golden Lion. In fact none ever saw him anywhere else. Many a meal and much drink were brought to him there at his seat.

Many times his laughter and round oaths could be heard well into the night as he regaled the many adventures he had been on. The raids on Splintertee Outpost; His forays into the Cauldron in Searing Gorge; His most loved tale of how he had outwitted that one Horde Shaman long enough for the young Draenei Shaman he was tormenting to Hearth away to safety. Then he just waved and melded into the brush to watch the angered Shaman screaming his rage.

But tonight, he held his silence so long that his regular audience began to be worried for him. When he began this story, he was quiet. No grand gestures, no calls to come closer to hear the finest tale ever told. No bravado or joke to call in his listeners. He just began:

"There once was a young man, full of life and strong of arm. He could out run and out wrestle any man in his village. When the time was right, a Knight of the Old Order took him in as a page. The young man took care of the Knights horse at first, then his stables, then his armory and finally his Keep.

"And all the time the Knight taught the young man. While the sun was up he taught him the sword and buckler, mace and armor, tactics and strategies of war. During the evenings he taught him his letters and ciphering, dancing and the courtly arts.

"The years of service fairly flew by for the Knight, while they seemed to hang heavier on the young man as he learned more each day. Then the day came when the Knight sent the now well grown man out to deliver a gift to his Liege while he himself made his monthly rounds of the lands he held in trust for the King. He was instructed in the route he was to follow and the manner in which he was to present it and then released to perform his errand.

"Nothing the young man faced on his way stopped him. Neither Murloc, nor Naga, nor denizen of the forest or field could withstand his sword and abilities in battle. He had truly learned his profession, nay, his art, well.

"It was still early in the evening, and he knew that this Duke held court before his meal so the young man decided to slacken his hunger and thirst before going on to the Citadel.

"It did not take long before he had drawn the attention of a beautiful woman. Her auburn hair and full lips were like a wine to him. And the way her hips swayed as she walked drew his full attention. He never forgot his errand, but surely, he could woo this lovely woman for a while and still complete his task this very day.

"It was well after dark when he finally came to the hall the Duke was already feasting in. He was late. He was limping badly as he entered the hall with the small chest that held his Knights gift for the Duke. Pages came to his aid and the Duke himself came down from his table to attend to him.

"At the command of the Duke, the young man recounted his journey, omitting the time he spent at the inn, and told of how he never let the chest out of his site and had almost made it to the Citadel when he was waylaid by Defias Highwaymen. He fought valiantly the four attackers until he was stabbed in the leg from behind. As he fell, he saw his horse bearing down on him, is eyes wide with freight. The horse reared and fell on the last two Defias as they in turn ran it thru the heart as it fell on them.

"The man, now barely able to get up off the ground, cut the strap that held the chest to his horse. 'I then picked up the chest and came here to the Citadel as best I could. Here, your Grace,' he finished as he removed the lock 'is the gift of my Knight to you.'

"The Duke took the chest and opened it and then closed it again and handed it to his lady who also opened it. From it she took a single red rose and a note which she read aloud. _Thank you for the afternoon. You were a delicious young man. Rojas_

"The young man sat there saying nothing. His face grew very red and the room began to swim around him. Then from behind the group came a laugh the young man knew well. As the group parted he saw his Knight standing there, with a beautiful red haired woman dressed in chain mail.

"Rojas, for that was her name, knelt and presented the Duke with the Signet Ring that had originally been in the chest. Then arose and bowed and left the room.

"The Duke and his Knight had planned this test. But the Defias were not part of it. Since he delivered the chest, it was declared that he passed the test and from that day on the man was in the employ of the Duke and his family. But he evermore walked with a slight limp. It was not too long before he saw Rojas again. But that is another story."

The old Knight looked into his mug and then rose from his bench. "Storytelling is powerful thirsty work." He muttered, as he limped to the bar for a refill.


	3. Chapter 3: The Hunter of Dun Modr

The campfire crackled for a time and those gathered around it silently watched the flames eat at the wood. Tonight it was Sayberrys' turn to tell her story. Her heart ached as she collected her story in her mind.

"This is not my story, but the story of a man who will forever be known in my familys' history as a Hero.

"Two men, a hunter named Mardok, and a warrior named Wessel, came upon the remains of a battle. No one there was left alive. The footprints near the campfire showed a child had been there, but no childs' body was found by the two men as they finished their search. They chose to split up, one to follow and rescue if possible the child and the other to alert the patrols in this area.

"After a night and a day, the hunter finds the campfire of the raiding party. He summons his best friend and longest companion, a panther he has had since it was a cub. He named him Lil-berry in honor of his sister who found it." Say falters a moment but collects herself and continues the story.

"Lil-berry sniffed the ground for the scent of the child. He then shifts into the shadows and leaves Mardok. This he has never done before. He has always known how to melt into the shadows and does so regularly, but has never left Mardok without being instructed. Has Lil-berry fallen ill? Succumbed to a spell?

"Mardok circled the camp until he saw a hint of a shadow enter a tent near the center. Now he knows where the captives are. Shortly after, Lil-berry returns to Mardok and drops something shiny at his feet. Mardok took some time with Lil-berry before he was satisfied that whatever had caused him to leave, it was by his own choice.

"When Mardok looked at the ground, he stares at the locket at his feet for a forgotten moment, for it bears the device of the Paladin of Lakeshire. A design he is very familiar with, for it belongs to his household.

"Now he understood why Lil-berry acted without direction. The child must be his youngest sister, Dellta. She was too young to travel alone, which meant the woman traveling with her is his mother, Lontise.

"Mardok hugs his best friend, 'It is time to fight the good fight.' This is a phrase Mardok has used only twice before. Both times they fought giving no quarter. Lil-berry flattened his ears to his skull and bares his teeth into a smile of death. He growls low and deep in his chest and melts once again into the shadows around him.

"Lil-berry crept again to the tent where he lay down and waited. Mardok moved to a bent tree that hung out over the river where he notched his best arrow to his bow and picked his first target. He waited until the Blood Elf was at the end of his circuit about the camp. No one else was near him when the arrow struck him in the kidney. No sound escaped his lips as he stiffened from the pain and then slumped soundlessly to the ground into death.

"Mardok was now able to enter the camp, if he was careful enough, and the tent, if he was lucky enough.

"But his luck ran out as he first entered the camp. Suddenly a man sleeping at the campfire opened his eyes and cried out while he lept up from his bedding.

"Mardok never hesitated as he fired an arrow into the heart of the Orc, then turned and as he grabbed and drew back for another shot. This time his arrow struck that Orc in the belly, just below the rib cage. Another inch higher and it might have bounced off its armor. Its diaphragm cut, the Orc could not draw in a breath. Instead it turned towards the tent. Maybe its intentions were to kill the prisoners, but Lil-berry found the Orc first and the Orc found oblivion in the next moment.

"There were only two left alive now, one a Paladin, and one a Rogue.

"The Rogue was suddenly on Mardok. His poisons and potions that he had splashed on his blades worked their worst on Mardok. Still Mardok might have had a chance if the Paladin could be kept busy."

Sayberry paused for a moment.

"As it happened, Lil-berry knew this too. He attacked the Paladin from behind, stunning him for a moment then slashed viciously at his neck. The Paladin had to heal himself and this gave Mardok a moment's advantage that he did not waste. He threw a knife past the Rogue (who thought Mardok had missed) and into the Paladins' heart before the Paladin could finish whispering his Healing spell.

"Lil-berry moved like black lightning to attack the Rogue. When Lil-berry and Mardok finally met in their dance of death, they were next to the tent with only the Rogue.

"Mardok had slowed considerably as the poisons from his wounds began to take their toll. The Rogue melted away then reappeared at Mardoks' back, plunging a dagger deep into him and then turning to use his second dagger on Lil-berry. They slumped to the ground together.

"As Lontise watched, the light of life went out from Mardoks' eyes, and the Rogue began to walk purposely towards her. On his third step he staggers slightly but keeps marching closer. Murder is in his eyes.

"Lontise has no weapon, she never learned how to use one, but even a knife to defend herself and her child would be better than dying without even trying. Or worse yet, watching a second child of hers die this day.

"The Rogue finished his march. He grips his last dagger in both hands and raises it high above his head as Lontise turns her head and holds her youngest child close shielding her against what is about to happen. An arrowhead suddenly blossoms from the Rogues' chest

"He looks down at the arrow as he drops the knife and then falls lifeless to the ground at her feet. Behind him stands the spectral form of Mardok, Lil-berry is at his side now in death as he always was in life. He stares for a moment into the tent, making sure his mother and sister are safe before they both turn and begin to walk away. When they reach the edge of the camp, passing the first sentry they killed, they disappear."

For a long moment, Sayberry was quiet. Her tears glistened as they fell into her open hands on her lap. Finally, her voice breaking, she finished her story.

"Wessel finds the camp an few minutes later. Lontise is still in the tent, still crying, still holding Delta.

"The bodies of the Horde were burned, but Mardok and Lil-berry, who had been his friend since the day after I found him, were carried on litters to fresh graves near that path. To this day, there are people who sometimes report the help of a Hunter and his Panther who seem to guard the road near Dun Modr"

The fire crackled for a time and those gathered around it stood silently and offered a toast to the souls of those who had passed on before their time. They watched the hot coals as they made patterns in the charred remains of the campfire.


	4. Chapter 4: The Rescue

After the meal, when the woods around them were quiet and the twins had settled to yet another game of chance, Fentor stood up in the center of their camp. "I would tell a tale of bravery and fighting this night."

"What a surprise," Annas' comment caused a ripple of laughter. "Well? Don't stare, tell."

Fentor braced his hands upon his belt as he began.

"On a white palfrey rode Margaret, the little daughter of the Earl of Evesham. She was accompanied by her nurse and two retainers on foot.

Mendon, who was a great favorite with the earl's daughter, for whom he frequently brought pets, such as nests of young owlets, falcons, and other creatures-was about to join the party when from a clump of trees near burst a body of ten mounted men.

Without a word they rode straight at the astonished group. The retainers were cut to the ground before they had thought of drawing a sword in defense.

The nurse was slain by a blow with a battle-ax, and Margaret, snatched from her palfrey, was thrown across the saddlebow of one of the mounted men, who then with his comrades dashed off at full speed.

"Wait, Fentor." Sayberry was almost laughing as she spoke. "Wasn't Maddie the girl who wanted to marry you wjem you were 15?"

"SAY!" Fentor was indignant, "This is my story!"

"Forgive me big brother, please continue."

As I was saying, all the retainers were slain and the men then rode off back the way they had come. The whole of the startling scene of the abduction of the Earl of Evesham's daughter occupied but a few seconds. Mendon was so astounded at the sudden calamity that he remained rooted to the ground at the spot where, fortunately for himself, unnoticed by the assailants, he had stood when they first burst from their concealment.

For a short time he hesitated as to the course he should take.

The men-at-arms who remained in the castle as the Earl hunted in his woods were scarce strong enough to rescue the child, whose captors would no doubt be reinforced by a far stronger party lurking near.

The main body of Sir Walter's followers were deep in the recesses of the forest,"

"I KNEW IT!" Sayberry crowed as the rest of the camp exploded in laughter.

"If you don't want to hear the story, then I'll stop." Fentor sat down and firmly crossed his arms upon his chest.

"Dear heart," Anna came over to Fentor and threw her arms around his shoulders. "We do wish to hear the story, but we also want to celebrate the chivalry you showed and the honor you earned. Please, tell us YOUR story." And she kissed him on his brow.

Fentor nodded and hugged Anna back before rising again to finish his tale.

"The main body of Sir Walter's followers were deep in the recesses of the forest, and this lay altogether out of the line for Wortham, and there would be no chance whatever of bringing them up in time to cut off the marauders on their way back.

There remained only the outlaws, who by this time would be in Langholm Forest, perhaps within a mile or two of the castle itself.

The road by which the horsemen would travel would be far longer than the direct line across country, and he … I … resolved at once to strain every nerve to reach my friends in time to get them to interpose between the captors of the Lady Margaret and the stronghold of the Baron of Wortham.

For an instant more I hesitated deciding whether to run back to Erstwood to get a horse; but I decided that it would be as quick to go on foot, and far easier so to find the outlaws.

These thoughts occupied but a few moments, and I at once started as fast as I could run across the country.

Had I been running in a race of hare and hound, I would assuredly have borne away the prize from most boys of my age. At headlong pace I made across the country, every foot of which, as far as the edge of Langholm Chase, I knew by heart.

The distance to the woods was some twelve miles, and in an hour and a half from the moment of my starting I was deep within its shades. Where I would be likely to find the outlaws I knew not; and, putting my fingers to my lips, I shrilly blew the signal, which would, I knew, be recognized by any of the band within hearing.

I heard an answer, but was not certain, and again dashed forward, almost as speedily as if I had but just started.

Five minutes later a man stood in the glade up which I was then running. And I recognized him at once as one of Cnut's party.

"Where is the band?"

"Half a mile or so to the right," replied the man.

Guided by the man, I ran at full speed, till, panting and scarce able to speak, I arrived at the spot where Cnut's band were gathered.

In a few words I told them what had happened, and although they had just been chased by the father of the captured child, there was not a moment of hesitation in promising their aid to rescue her from a man whom they regarded as a far more bitter enemy, both of themselves and their race.

"I fear we shall be too late to cut them off," Cnut said, "they have so long a start; but at least we will waste no time in gossiping."

Winding a horn to call together some of the members of the band who had scattered, and leaving one at the meeting-place to give instructions to the rest, Cnut, followed by those assembled there, went off at a swinging trot through the glades toward Wortham Castle.

After a rapid calculation of distances, and allowing for the fact that the baron's men-knowing that Sir Walter's retainers and friends were all deep in the forest, and even if they heard of the outrage could not be on their traces for hours-would take matters quietly, Cnut concluded that they had arrived in time.

Turning off, we made our way along the edge of the wood, to the point where the road from Evesham ran through the forest.

Scarcely had the party reached this point when they heard a faint clatter of steel.

"Here they come!" I exclaimed.

Cnut gave rapid directions, and the band took up their posts behind the trees, on either side of the path.

"Remember," Cnut said, "above all things be careful not to hit the child, but pierce the horse on which she is riding. The instant he falls, rush forward. We must trust to surprise to give us the victory."

Three minutes later the head of a band of horsemen was seen through the trees. They were some thirty in number, and, closely grouped as they were together, the watchers behind the trees could not see the form of the child carried in their midst.

When they came abreast of the concealed outlaws Cnut gave a sharp whistle, and fifty arrows flew from tree and bush into the closely gathered party of horsemen. More than half their number fell at once; some, drawing their swords, endeavored to rush at their concealed foes, while others dashed forward in the hope of riding through the snare into which they had fallen. I had my crossbow leveled, but had not fired; watching with intense anxiety for a glimpse of the bright-colored dress of the child. Soon I saw a horseman separate himself from the rest and dash forward at full speed. Several arrows flew by him, and one or two struck the horse on which he rode.

The animal, however, kept on its way.

I steadied my crossbow on the low arm of a tree, and as the rider came abreast of me I touched the trigger, and the steel-pointed quarrel flew true and strong against the temple of the passing horseman. He fell from his horse like a stone, and the well-trained animal at once stood still by the side of his rider.

Instantly I leaped forward, and to my delight the child at once opened her arms and cried in a joyous tone:

"Fentor!"

The fight was still raging fiercely, and, raising her from the ground, I ran with her into the wood, where we remained hidden until the combat ceased, and the last survivors of the baron's band had ridden past toward the castle.

Then I went forward with my charge and joined the band of outlaws, who, absorbed in the fight, had not witnessed the incident of her rescue, and now received us with loud shouts of joy and triumph.

"This is a good day's work indeed for all," I said; "it will make of the earl a firm friend instead of a bitter enemy; and I doubt not that better days are dawning for Evesham Forest."

A litter was speedily made with boughs; on this Margaret was placed, and on the shoulders of two stout foresters started for home, Cnut and I walked on either side, and a few of the band keeping at a short distance behind, as a sort of rearguard, should the baron attempt to regain his prey.

There was now no cause for speed, and, in truth, I could scarce drag one foot before another, for I had already traversed over twenty miles this day, the greater portion of the distance at my highest rate of speed.

Cnut offered to have a litter made for me also, but this I refused; however, in the forest we came upon the hut of a small cultivator, who had a rough forest pony, which was borrowed for my use.

It was late in the afternoon before we came in sight of Evesham Castle. From the distance could be seen bodies of armed men galloping toward it, and it was clear that only now the party were returning from the wood, and had learned the news of the disappearance of the earl's daughter, and of the finding of the bodies of her attendants.

Presently they met one of the mounted retainers riding at headlong speed.

"Have you heard or seen anything," he shouted, as he approached, "of the Lady Margaret? She is missing, and foul play has taken place."

"Here I am, Rudolph," cried the child, sitting up on the rude litter.

The horseman gave a cry of astonishment and pleasure, and without a word wheeled his horse and galloped past back at headlong speed toward the castle.

As our party approached the gate the earl himself, surrounded by his knights and followers, rode out hastily from the gate and halted in front of our little party. The litter was lowered, and as he dismounted from his horse his daughter sprang out and leaped into his arms.

For a few minutes the confusion and babble of tongues were too great for anything to be heard, but I, as soon as order was somewhat restored, stated what had happened, and the earl was moved to fury at the news of the outrage which had been perpetrated by the Baron of Wortham upon his daughter and at the very gates of his castle, and also at the thought that she should have been saved by the bravery and devotion of the very men against whom he had so lately been vowing vengeance in the depths of the forest.

"This is not a time," he said to Cnut, "for talk or making promises, but be assured that henceforth the deer of Evesham Chase are as free to you and your men as to me. Forest laws or no forest laws, I will no more lift a hand against men to whom I owe so much. Come when you will to the castle, my friends, and let us talk over what can be done to raise your outlawry and restore you to an honest career again."

I returned home tired, but delighted with my day's work, and Lady Lontise, my mother, was surprised indeed with the tale of adventure I had to tell. The next morning I went over to the castle, and heard that a grand council had been held the evening before, and that it had been determined to attack WorthamCastle and to raze it to the ground.

"But that is a story for another night." Fentor bowed to the round of applause.

"Well told Fen. You must have been practicing." Say hugged her brother. "Thank you for sharing that."

"In truth, Myrdden helped me organize the story in my mind so that I may tell it easier."

"Then we will thank him as well." Anna also hugged Fentor.


	5. Chapter 5: THE ENCHANTED PALACE

The moon was full and high in the night sky when it was Sarafeena's turn to tell a story. "Mema, my mothers', mothers' mother, used to tell me this story from time to time. She said it was told to her by her Mema when she was young, and it was very very old even then."

THE ENCHANTED PALACE

NEAR the city of Telaa, the capital of Nagrand when that country was a kingdom of the Kerenai, was a great palace of the olden time, or, as some say, a vast cave, which had been deepened and widened and made into many rooms. Still others say that it was a mighty tower. Whatever it was, Palace, Tower, or Cavern deep, a spell lay upon it from far past days, which none had dared to break. There was an ancient prophecy that Nagrand would in time be invaded by barbarians from the East, and to prevent this, a wise king, who knew the arts of magic, had placed a secret talisman in one of the rooms. While this remained undisturbed the country was safe from invasion. If once the secret of the talisman should be divulged, swift ruin would descend upon the kingdom of Nagrand. It must be guarded strongly and well, for in it lay the destinies of all Kerenai.

A huge iron gate closed the entrance to the enchanted palace, and upon this each king of the Kerenai, on coming to the throne, placed a strong lock, so that in time huge padlocks covered much of its front and its secrecy seemed amply assured. When Roderic, the last king of the Kerenai, came to the throne, Fourty-Seven such locks hung upon the gate. As for the keys, some bards tell us that they remained in the locks, others say that they had been hidden and lost; but it is certain that no one had dared to open a single one of the locks; prudence and fear guarded the secret better than gates and locks.

At length the time came when the cherished secret more important than the curse it was said to hold back. Roderic, who had seized the throne by violence, and bore in his heart the fatal bane of curiosity, determined to learn what had lain for centuries behind those locks. The whole affair, he declared, was the jest of an ancient king, which did very well when superstition ruled the world, but which was far behind the age in which he lived. Two things moved the epoch-breaking king, curiosity, that vice which has led thousands to ruin, and avarice, which has brought destruction upon thousands more. "It is a treasure-house, not a talisman," he told himself. "Gold, silver, and jewels lie hidden in its moldy depths. My treasury is empty, and I should be a fool to let a cluster of rusty locks keep me from filling it from this ancient store."

When it became known what Roderic proposed a shudder of horror ran through the land. Nobles and bishops hastened to the audience chamber and sought to hinder the fateful purpose of the rash monarch. Their hearts were filled with dread of the perils that would follow any meddling with the magic spell, and they earnestly implored him not to bring the foretold disaster upon the land.

"The kings who reigned before you have religiously obeyed the injunction," they said. "Each of them has fixed his lock to the gate. It will be wise and prudent in you to follow their example. If it is gold and jewels you look for, tell us how much you think the cavern holds, even all your fancy hopes to find, and so much we will give you. Even if it beggars us, we will collect and bring you this sum without fail. We pray and implore you, then, do not break a custom which our old kings have all held sacred. They knew well what they did when they commanded that none after them should seek to disclose the fatal secret of the hidden chamber."

Earnest as was their appeal, it was wasted upon Roderic. Their offer of gold did not reach his deepest motive; curiosity with him was stronger than greed, and he laughed in his beard at the fears and tremblings of his lords.

"It shall not be said that I, Roderic, the king of the Kerenais, fears the devil or his agents," he loudly declared, and orders were given that the locks should be forced.

The procession from Telaar to the Gates of Destiny was the grandest thing seen in those days. Great behemoths from a far away land led and followed the procession. Their tusks curved upwards towards the sun from each side of their mouth. Each tusk was scribed with pictographs of the reign of a King of Nagrand and then inlaid with gold and jewels. Great towers were mounted on their backs and all the Royal Court rode comfortably in these. Streamers and banners of all the city-states flew coloring the crisp morning air. This was the Fourty-Eighth time this procession had formed to escort the new King to the Gates of Destiny, yet none lined the streets this time to cheer the procession on its way.

A quiet camp was set-up around the Gates as the blacksmiths brought out their mauls and one by one the rusty safeguards yielded to key or sledge. Yet, when the locks were removed no one could stir the Gates until the hand of the king touched them. Then, shrieking in disapproval, they slowly opened of themselves, reluctantly turning on their stiff hinges, for they had not moved for centuries. Inside stood 15 enchanted guards each with a club of steel, with which they dealt resounding blows on the floor to right and left. All were bound to defend this tower by oath and magic. They desisted at the king's command, and the train entered unharmed. Into the courtyard strode the king, followed by his fearful but curious train.

The rooms of the tower, as tradition had said, were many, and from room to room he hurried with rapid feet. He sought in vain. No gold appeared; no jewels glittered on his sight. The rooms were drear and empty, their hollow floors mocking his footsteps with long-silent echoes. One treasure only he found and had removed as he continued into the palace, the jeweled table of Sol'Umon, a famous ancient work of art which had long remained hidden from human sight. Of this wonderful relic we shall say no more here, for it has a history of its own, to be told in a future tale.

On and up went the disappointed king, with nothing to satisfy his avarice or his curiosity. At length he entered the chamber of the spell, the magic room which had so long been locked from living vision, and looked with eyes of wonder on the secret which had been so carefully preserved.

What he saw was simple but threatening. In the magic chamber they found a golden casket and on the wall above it was a rude painting, which represented a group of strangely dressed horsemen, some wearing turbans, some bareheaded, with locks of coarse black hair hanging over their foreheads. The skins of animals covered their limbs; they carried scimitars and lances and many other weapons unknown then in that land, and bore fluttering pennons; their mounts were small, but of purest breed. Behind them was a black and shapeless menace with fiery eyes driving the rest relentlessly forward.

Turning in doubt and dread from this enigmatical drawing, the daring intruder saw in the centre of the apartment a pedestal bearing a marble urn, in which lay a scroll of parchment. From this one of his scribes read the following words:

"Whenever this asylum is violated and the spell contained in this urn broken, the people shown in the picture shall invade the land and overturn the throne of its kings. The rule of the Kerenais shall end and the whole country, fall into the hands of heathen strangers."

As the light that filled the urn dimmes, King Roderic looked again with eyes of alarm on the pictured forms. Well he knew their meaning. The turban-wearers were Taurans, their mounts the famous wolves of the desert; the bare-headed barbarians were Trolls and Orcs. Already there had been rumors of a new and powerful threat in the land of Go'tash so that many called it Hellfire now. He had broken the spell which held them back; the time for the fulfillment of the prophecy was at hand. As he gazed the mural began to move, sounds of war were heard, and the vision of a battle between Horde and Nagrand warriors passed before the affrighted eyes of the intruders. The Nagrand army was defeated, and Roderic saw the image of himself in flight, and finally of his horse without a rider.

Filled with sudden terror, the rash invader hurried from the chamber of the talisman, his courtiers flying with wild haste to the open air. As he rushed in terror from the fatal room they barely noticed that the guards were no longer to be seen. The brazen gates were closed with a clang which rang dismally through the empty courtyard, and the lock of the king was fixed upon them. But it was too late. The voice of destiny had spoken and the fate of the kingdom been revealed, and all the people looked upon Roderic as a doomed man. And finally, as they raced from the Gates to their horses, the tower began to burn by magic fire, and its very ashes were scattered by the wings of an innumerable flight of Windrocs. The very ground fell away from under the massive walls that had surrounded the tower and the Gates of Destiny fell into the chasm newly created.

To this day there is fighting and strife where that mighty tower once stood. Shrouding it in the forgetfulness of shame, Roderic ordered the plateau renamed and built an outpost there, and the 15 enchanted guards still fight to this very day to protect Halaa.


	6. Chapter 6: The last time

THE LAST TIME

He left his sword in the sheathe he had created in his last opponent; his Gauntlets dropped before he turned to walk off the field. Now he began to unbuckle his Vambraces. All this time he muttered over and over again to himself, "I shall never kill again, this was the last time."

He looked up to keep his bearings as he staggered slightly and saw the crowd in the bleachers. His wife, his sons, his Magistrate and his King, all the people he had tried to impress in his life were there. All stood cheering as he silently crossed to the end of the field where the raised platform was set.

He realized he had stopped walking.

"The last time." The old Knight whispered again as he staggered slowly forward towards the edge of the lyst field. His left leg was bleeding heavily under his Greaves, the blood collected in his Scarpa before leaving a trail of crimson puddles in the torn dirt. The blood would freeze before the ground could absorb it.

He dropped his second Greave and began to tear at the remains of his Tabard as he took a few more steps to exit this field of battle.

Behind him something moved.

With the help of a pike, a warrior worked hard to free himself from under a Tauran. He had played this game before. If wounded, play dead until forgotten. Then rise up and ambush the retreating foe while he was still congratulating himself for surviving. This time however, a Tauren had fallen on top of him when he ran into the very pike now helping him to stand. The shaft had cracked in the middle of its length, but it was still strong enough to service its new owner.

The voices of the Horde in their stands began to build momentum until a hundred voices chanted 'Or-grim-arr'.

The Knight thought he heard something over the tearing of the fabric. He paused for a moment then reached up and removed his helm. Now he could hear the chant clearly, but it was behind him, where the Horde sat. He groaned as he understood what this sound meant.

From the moment his head came free of the carrion, the Orc never took his gaze off the retreating Knight. One arm hung useless at his side, a throwing axe imbedded at the point of his shoulder. He had seen the Dwarf who threw it but only had time to turn and not parry. That was when he dropped to the ground. Just before the blood-crazed Tauren tripped over him and died upon the shaft of his own pike.

A hundred voices spoke the chant 'Or-grim-arr' over and over again, getting louder with each repetition.

The old Knight had stopped just short of the edge and closed his eyes for a moment as the import of this revelation took hold of him. It took every fiber of his will to turn back towards the bloody field and face the Orc Battlemaster that had risen from the pile of bodies there.

When the Orc finally stood free of the carcass, he placed his foot on the lifeless Tauren now at his feet and pulled the pike free.

A hundred voices cried, chanting 'OR-GRIM-ARR' over and over again.

"Give me strength." Before every battle the Knight had prayed this short prayer. And his second had always given him the Strength of the Light. This time, there was no ring of light, no Blessing of Might covering his body in response to his prayer. He was alone on this field of glory. He looked around him, and saw only his discarded armor. There were no weapons here to fight with, no shield here to protect himself with.

The Orc smiled fiercely as he too recognized the situation the stupid Human was in. It had no weapon and half its' armor was gone. It would die quickly.

The Knight tipped his helm at the Orc before raising it over his head.

The Battlemaster sneered and nodded to the Human. What was a helm to him? He had smashed heads inside their helms in many battles, he had cleaved the brow of a General once right thru a new looking helm.

At the others nod, the Knight pulled his helm firmly into place and began to tie the straps around his chin. His mind raced back to the beginning of this contest. He needed to place this Orc to know best how to fight it.

The Heralds took almost an hour introducing the combatants to the crowds.

The contestants entered in pairs, one Horde and one Alliance at a time from opposite ends of the oval field. Then, carrying the banner of the combatant they were introducing, the Herald led the Combatant silently to the center of the span of seats where they would stop and speak in their own language to their listening or jeering crowds.

The Heralds would then lead their charges to the middle of the field where they would wait to bow or curtsey to each other before handing over the standard of their fighter to the other Herald. They would then turn about and lead their own hero to be presented to their own crowds.

When it was his turn around the field, he offered his hand to the Tauran who had just been introduced to the Alliance crowd. But the Tauran refused the gesture. The Horde in their bleachers laughed at the Chivalrous attempt of the Human and the Alliance booed the manners of the Tauran. The procession ended when the Herald placed the standard in one of the many holders at the edge of the field in front of their factions' bleachers.

He remembered the Herald for this Orc continuing a long time at the holder before finally planting the banner and coming for him. This was a Warrior of some renown who had obviously fought in many battles. He would not be an easy opponent. But then, in these lysts, there never was an easy win.

Once the strap was tightened, all he could do was crouch into a defensive posture and wait. He did not have to wait long.

Finally the human had its helm on. "FEAR THE GRIM" the Orc cried as he trapped the pike against his body and charged. He remembered hearing the names of the many battles this Human had been in while it was being shown off to the crowds. Three of the battles he himself had been in. This was a dangerous Human when it had an army at its' side. How was it fighting on its' own? His arm under the axe flopped about like the dead appendage it was. It was no longer his to control.

"THOK MOK THOK" it cried as it began its charge. 'Grim', the Knight thought to himself. That too was a clue to how it would fight. He limped a couple steps forward and to the Orc's offside. It was closing the distance quickly enough on its two good legs for the Knight to know he had just run out of time.

He remembered seeing this style of charge once before and crouched slightly lower. He had chosen his attack point while he was still tying his helm. Now it was time to see if the Orc would oblige him or make him work to hit it.

As the Orc closed the distance he thought for a fleeting moment how he would be rewarded for this kill. His sneering smile grew the larger as the tip of the pike drooped slightly.

The Orcs' distraction was all the Knight needed to avoid this charge. The Knight didn't think, he didn't have time; he acted automatically with the surety of his many years in the Kings' service. He straightened up like a releasing spring, pushing hard with his good leg as he slapped the end of the pike further down. Just a little slap was all he needed to force the tip further off target. To try for more or to slap it away would have forced him to move awkwardly and give away this advantage to the Orc. He had enough height in his leap now to grab the handle of the axe embedded in the Orcs' shoulder as it rushed past.

The Orc didn't notice the pike drooping until it was almost too late. He immediately tried to pull up the tip of the pike, but the Human reached out and slapped it downward. The Orc focused on controlling the tip of his pike as it almost hit the dirt. He tried to turn away from the Human who had jumped towards his injured side but was running too fast to change directions that quickly. He knew he had missed his best chance to finish this fight quickly. If he tried to bring the pike back around without stopping first he would only slap the human in the back.

As the Orc ran past him, the Knight grabbed the handle of the throwing axe and let his entire weight hang on that one hope he had for life.

The Orc's shoulder exploded in pain as he twisted his muscled body around to get away from this Human. He had done this very move to kill so many foes so many times. But this time he had no movement in his left arm to grab the neck of the Human, or put power into his swing. Hot rage grew and spread as the wave of pain from his shoulder flowed through his body until his voice sprang from his throat in a mighty roar as the axe was pulled free.

The axe was nearly yanked free of the Knights' grasp as the Orc swung away from him, throwing his feet higher into the air by their combined momentum. Unable to follow through with a killing blow to the back of his opponents' head, he screamed in frustration as he twisted in mid air and then in pain as he landed too heavily on his damaged leg and went down to his knee.

The Battlemaster did not want to give this Human a chance to use that axe. As quickly as he could he began to turn, and lost his footing on a patch of the Knights' frozen blood. All he could do was fall onto his back which knocked the air from his lungs and snapped the shaft of the pike in two as it struck the frozen ground.

The Knight thanked the Light for his good fortune as he balanced himself on the knee of his bad leg and drew back the axe behind his head to heave it with all the strength he could muster.

The Orc breathlessly cursed his misfortune as he rolled over to his stomach and got his feet under him as quickly as he was able. He grabbed the short spear that used to be a pike as he pushed himself up then loudly cursed a round solid oath when he realized his back was to the Human. He turned to find his prey.

The axe left the Knights' hands at the perfect moment and flew towards the Orc as the Battlemaster gained its' feet and began to turn. The Knight never took his eyes off his target spot. Many years before, he had learned that was the real secret to throwing an axe. Bore a hole with your eyes into your target and you will rarely miss. Its polished faces, partially covered with the half dried blood of the Orc, flashed crimson and white in the light of the setting sun as it flew in slow motion along his line of sight towards its' target.

* * *

The reception that evening was filled with all the colors and splendor of the dignitaries that had gathered under the Big Tent from all the great houses of both factions. The lengthy reception celebrated the events and toasted the accomplishments, strengths and honors shown on the various fields that day."

The King sat at the head table that had been erected upon the dais. His Queen sat to his left with their son and then notable dignitaries seated in order to the end of the long table. The Horde emissaries sat to his right in the same order he presumed.

Once all were seated and the feast was served, a Herald cried loudly the traditional words that opened the Court of the King. Many cheered when the Knight was called forward. His wife, walking at his side, wore the gown she had worked on all last winter and smiled with great joy and pride for her husband as they both walked down the wide center isle to the dais.

His limp was gone. The medics had worked their magic upon him as they had upon every combatant at the Argent Tournament after each battle. Only one had not been able to be resurrected this day. He would be buried in the Graveyard to the East with all the honors of his race and tribe.

The Knight wore the medals and badges his accomplishments and rank required of him. At his waist he wore the favor his wife had given him those many years ago when he had first caught her eye. He removed his ceremonial sword and handed it to the Guard of Honor when he reached the stairs, as tradition required of him. Then, before climbing the stairs, he kissed his wife on the cheek and smiled at her, as their love required of him.

The Knight climbed the stairs as the entire hall rose to its feet. When he reached the top step he bowed first to the left, then to the right, to recognize the important men and women gathered there. Then he bowed to the Queen and then to the King before kneeling upon the pillows placed at their feet just for this use.

The King had words for this Knight, and the Herald began to read from the scroll as the Queen handed the token of this award into the hand of the King as he opened his palm behind his back to accept it. The King felt a second marker placed there as well. He glanced at his Queen who smiled and nodded. When he glanced into his hand he too smiled, and separated these tokens one to a hand, before bringing out the token for the award that had just been read into law and placed it over the bowed head of the Knight.

The King raised his left hand for quiet as the hall applauded and cheered. He kept his right hand upon the shoulder of the Knight to keep him from trying to get up. His smile for this champion filled his face as he looked down at him for a moment.

Everyone had sat back down when the King began to recite the words that tradition required to be said for the award he was now presenting. A wave of excitement spread around the room as some began to recognize the words.

The Knight, dazed by the words he too recognized, reached out to the floor as he wavered slightly.

Several men and women stood up from their feast tables and moved quietly to the wide center isle. As they met in the isle, they joined into one procession until they reached the foot of the stairs. Each one had already received this award and each was prepared to receive this Knight into their brotherhood. The Knights' two children were brought up to their mother by the Knight who had sponsored this man to the Order of Knighthood. The last few on each side now closed the area they had created.

The King who had finished the words, held before the Knight the emblem of the Order of the Lion: a roaring Lion upon a blue field.

The Knight spoke the traditional words that accepted the honor as the King placed the emblem around his neck. Then the King held his arm out for the Knight to grasp and pulled him up into a hug. The cheering was so loud that were it not for how close they were, the Knight would not have been able to hear his King speak to him. "Welcome. Welcome to the brotherhood my friend."

The Knight was vaguely aware of the next few minutes as his only thought was to return and share with his wife this great honor.

"GO, go to the back of the hall Lions, and greet your new brother. I have business to complete!" The King smiled warmly as the Pride of Lions moved to the back of the hall.

* * *

The night was cold, dark and quiet for the caravan moving south towards Dalaran. The only man on guard was a lowly Orc. His armor was simple, his weapons crude. His only distinguishing feature was a birthmark that looked like the imprint of a throwing axe on the side of his head.


	7. Chapter 7: Fierce Intensity

The wine had flowed freely after the wedding in the hills above Lakeshire. When Rae and Hysal, the newly wedded couple, rejoined the revelers they walked together to thank each and every one individually. Then Myrdden raised a toast, more a blessing, to them and their progeny. Now, as the night quieted after the guests to the camps' fire had begun to go to bed or just find places to be alone, Seralla sat at the edge of the firelight with her Sheng and began to pluck out a soft and delicate tune. In just a few heartbeats, Enola came over to sit with her.

Seralla didn't look up as she spoke, "I didn't think you were as drunk as you pretended to be."

"Of course I wasn't, but he was so anxious to be with a Blood Elf. And to tell the truth, he was not so very bad to be with." Eno tapped Sera's foot with hers. "You remember that time I came to your aid on the main road in Winterspring?"

"I remember. I was being harassed by a Gnome twice my age and strength. And down off the ridge you came to stand between the two of us like you owned the road and he was trespassing on it."

"He was! Well, he was hurting you for fun. And I can't abide bullies."

"So there you were no bigger than me threatening him like he could understand you."

Enola chuckled as she smiled, "He actually laughed before he lashed out at me too. Then my Rogue friends took him to school. When they were done with him he was running naked through the snow praying for pity."

The two old friends sat in quiet for a moment as Sera continued to pluck out the melody of their song.

"I was never so proud to be your friend as on that day." Sera changed the key of the melody slightly.

"Shall I sing it for you?"

"For me? No. But I would be pleased to hear you sing it again, for old time's sake."

Eno smiled and took a deep breath:

.

It is your heart, I long to be near,

As it beats strongly, piercingly clear.

The years will march on, turning each page.

But in our heart, we will never age.

.

A love so rare, so fiercely intense

Can only be shared, in soft caress

A lifetime to live, in each others arms

And keep you safe, from this world's harms.

.

Time can't be saved, or kept at bay

"I see you" I've said, ev'ry day.

A lifetime in each moment, smile or kiss

It's the eyes of each other, when apart, we miss

.

A love so rare, so fiercely intense

Can only be shared, in soft caress

A lifetime to live, in each others arms

And keep you safe, from this world's harms.

.

Dear heart, it is you, I've longed to be near,

Your heart as it beat, strong under my ear.

The years marched forward, to the very last page.

In my eyes, mind and heart, you've never aged.

.

A love so rare, so fiercely intense

Can only be shared, in soft caress

A lifetime to live, in each others arms

And keep you safe, from this world's harms.

.

Sera let the last notes fade into history and sighed, "I pray you find your someone Eno."

"Thank you. Until then, we still have each other dear one."

"But you have cold feet."

"And you never trim you toenails."

"I have hoofs."

"Right, what was I thinking."


	8. Chapter 8: Working for Breakfast

Sitting on his bunk playing mumbley-pegs with his dagger had become the norm for Lanzeki over the last few weeks while he waited and waited for training on becoming a better point fighter, called a Tank. He had had to place a target board on his floor after the rug he had been using to cover the target area began to shred on the bottom from all the slivers it had absorbed. This new life just did not seem to be working well for him. He had spent more time peeling potatoes with his dagger than he had trained since he got to the Midnight Reveries. Could they know?

Bored beyond even his ability to ignore, he had snuck away in the early hours from the training dojo to find some adventure. And maybe learn more about fighting and tanking like "the big boys". He had taught himself everything he knew, and it was beginning to look like he was going to have to continue that practice.

He was out and about in Nagrand trying to land in a tree to get some eggs for some guy who absolutely had to have an omelet. The little Goblin creature named Wazat was willing to trade him what looked like a wonderful cape for the eggs, so endlessly jumping on that "Jump-A-Tron 4000" was both fun and challenging.

But he had yet to actually land in the tree. He had tried to climb it once but the branches were too gnarled for him to keep upright. When he tried to climb hand over hand along the branches he just slid off the limb, the weight of his armor slamming him to the ground and winding him badly.

Lan could hear the laughter of the little gnome as he picked himself up one more time from the ground. Now he was mad.

He ran to the top of the nearby hill, summoned his warhorse, Buck, and charged towards the tree. Just before he reached the edge he spurred his mount and pulled back on the reigns as hard as he could. Buck jumped high into the air and actually landed on the nest.

Lanzeki was so thrilled with the success of this manuver that he failed to see the very large and very angry Windroc Matriarch falling from the sky directly at him.

* * *

Anna was just enjoying her first real vacation in years. It had been a long journey this time, right into the heart of enemy territory. But the results of her mission were very satisfying. Now she could relax and actually travel alone. The exquisite ecstasy of being relatively safe and alone at the same time almost made her giddy with happiness.

She had traveled much of Nagrand this day, noting a change here or there, for good or ill. Her new relationship with the Light and her recent journeys had convinced her that she needed to hone the Holier aspects of her Paladin's nature. So here she was just communing with nature. The thought of this sent a ripple of laughter from her near perfect lips across the area like music from a forgotten composition. She had never considered herself very connected to nature per say.

... Say ...

Say had tried to tell her, so many seasons ago now, about how wonderful it was to be a Holy Paladin. But she had always trained in the Retribution Disciplines so understanding about the importance of healings and health seemed foreign to her. She remembered a time when ...

Anna was brought back to the present suddenly by the very loud cry of what sounded like an equally large bird. It did not take her long to find what was making the racket since it seemed to be high up in a tree and easily visible from where she was.

For a moment she considered just moving on, until she saw the Warrior who fought for his life and the flash of the favor that was attached to his Shield.

Quick as thought Anna reared her Griffin around and bore down on the combatants. She had prepared her Crusaders Seal by the time she reached the tree and struck swiftly Judging the Windroc Matriarch. Then it was time for her to hold her Seal of Righteousness as her Griffins talons sank into the pinions of the Matriarch. The momentum carried all four of them to the ground not far below.

Unleashing her Consecration as they hit the ground kept up the damage on the Windroc. Its cries began to turn from rage to screams of pain more often now. A quick change of posture and she could now throw her Hammer of Justice so the bird was momentarily stunned. This was the moment she could use to wrap her Holy Light around the warrior to bring him back from the brink of death.

Lanzeki never slowed nor faltered in his attack. Even when he found he suddenly had help in his battle. At one point during the melee Lanzeki recognized some nuance of motion the Paladin had and looked up into her helm. He faltered in his attack as he recognized the eyes and the determination that looked out from there. Then he caught his second wind and leaned into the attack with more fury than even a moment before. Some part of his mind recognized that he had been struck by the Paladins Holy Light spell shortly after they all fell from the crumbling nest.

Then the Griffin launched itself clear of the fight. This was a good thing for Lanzeki since now he could use all his training to attack. A grueling battle ensued for what seemed a very long time. Hits were shared between the three of them until finally only the two Humans were left standing.

Anna once again wrapped Lanz with her Holy Light and then she offered her hand to the Warrior whose life she had saved. "Your Grace ...". He interrupted her train of thought as he kissed the palm of her hand while he stared into her very deep eyes. She inhaled deeply and once again remembered the last time she had the opportunity to enjoy his undivided attentions...

"I am very glad, that you came along, Duchess Annaralia Evrhiana. May I introduce myself. My name is Lanzeki."

Anna's brow furled a moment at the name. But the twinkle in his eyes reminded her of the old adage 'What is in a name?'

"Please allow me to escort you to Shattrath where I hear there is a wonderful Inn that will actually allow guests to use their kitchens."

"How could I possibly refuse such an offer? It has been ages since I have had a well cooked meal, and I have heard a rumor of how well you can cook. M'lord?"

Lanzeki laughed, "I am glad we understand each other."

As one, the two summoned and mounted their Chargers and began the short ride to Shattrath speaking in warm whispers the entire uneventful journey.


	9. Chapter 9: Blades Edge

_In the middle of the Mountains known as Blades Edge a hunting party was camped in the cavern that used to belong to a Direwolf. The wolf itself had been skinned and roasted over the fire after it had been followed to its lair. The banter of the hunters around the campfire included tales from their own adventures. On this night it was Fentors turn to share his first hunting memory._

_Fentor smiled at Gleamgasket and took a moment to form his story as he remembered how his friends told their stories at campfires. He wasn't as good as some of his friends at telling stories, but he was better than a couple when he put his mind to it. The fire crackled as the flames licked and crawled over the bark of the fresh wood that had just been added._

_"I remember a time," he began, "when my two brothers and I had been camping in the Redridge Mountains for almost a week. We would move our camp every day because of the Blackrock Gnolls or the Murlocs so it was not uncommon for us to be out exploring strange new terrain for days at a time. Well, this one time, we had come upon what we thought was a game trail. We followed it for several leagues before we realized we could no longer go back the way we came. We also realized at about this same moment that an Orc village was at the end of this trail. After discussing our options for a bit we struck off-path towards what looked like a small gully that might lead us out of this tight spot._

_When we got there, we found the long cold remains of a campfire right in the entrance to a tunnel. Our options being limited, we rolled to see who would go in first to explore. The lot fell to me and I entered the tunnel to see where it would lead._

_Once inside I saw the timbers of an abandoned mine. A little further in was the first skeleton until finally I was at the end of the mine where I found several skeletons and a few mining supplies. One of the skeletons still had a backpack attached to it. It was a Night Elf lady I believed, from the remains of other items I found there. Her pack was moldy and falling apart, the foods spoiled past stinking, and the weapons and utensils in it were corroded from dis-use. The handle of some weapon peeked out from under her, as if she had tried to hide it with her body before she died._

_If she had not been on top of it I would have picked it up. I did not want to disturb this Elf's final rest. But my curiosity got the better of me and I examined the handle of it, the Heft it is called. It was very, very old with Elvin runes all over what shaft I could see, but not on the grip. I felt compelled to try to pull it out from under the skeleton, but when I grasped the handle I began to feel very odd. As if I were falling, or looking over the edge of a very tall cliff._

_Before me I suddenly envisioned a warrior of immense power fighting to protect an Elvin woman from a monster so gross my mind could not grasp a clear image of it. They battled for a short time before I had to let go of the handle or I would have spewed. Immediately my stomach settled, but my head remained odd feeling for days._

_My friends had come in by then, so we all used the tools nearby to burry these remains._

_Every now and again, I feel those same odd sensations once more. Sometimes, when I feel that way waking up, I have dreamt of someone watching me in my sleep. Someone who looks young, but I believe is very old, and very sad. And I dream of a Warrior fighting against impossible odds to protect that woman. Fentor stopped telling his story as he became mesmerized by the fire._

_A wisp of smoke from the campfire breaks his reverie. He takes a deep breath and shakes off the effects his memory has on him. "As far as I know, that warrior is still fighting to this very day. I never found that cave again, although I looked for it for the entire summer that next year."_

A few days later the hunters brought their gleanings to Toshley Station to trade.

Fentor used part of his earnings to try out some device on a dare but the device did not work as it was supposed to and he was thrown through the barrier fence that protected the engineers from being overrun by the Ravagers and Flayers that roamed outside the station. His wounds were so severe he was brought immediately to the Healing House at Sylvanaar, and never returned.

Tyrande Whisperwind, High Priestess to Elune in the Temple at Darnassas, passed Darnella as she walked the only street in Sylvanaar. Daranelle stood watch outside the Hall and watched the small progression as it entered the great building. The Outpost was not meant to become a large settlement, so to have the High Priestess visit was a great honor for its inhabitants. In the time it took for her to walk from the Windroc platform to the entrance of the Healing House, the largest and central of only four buildings in the settlement, she had attracted the attention of every inhabitant and visitor in the outpost.

She was met by Shaunessy, the Innkeeper and village Hostess from across the street, and was being led thru the healing wards when she heard the Song of Elune once again. When she looked out over the short walls of the open ward, she finally saw the moonwell she first saw in her dream.

Tyrande was here because of that dream. She had the same dream every few nights until she came to this settlement nestled in the Living Grove within the Blades Edge Mountains. It showed her endlessly walking thru the corridors of the restless mind of a tortured and tormented Human.

Now she closed her eyes as she heard the urgings of Elune, and saw once again the man in her dream. When she opened then, an acolyte was bowing to her. It was unusual for a Human from the Temple, much less an acolyte so young, to have duties in such a remote area. Which was why Tyrande settled her hand upon Shaunessys shoulder, causing her to become quiet.

Tyrande looked at the acolyte. Dressed in the robes of waiting showing her duties here were voluntary, the Human child could not be any older than 20 Seasons. Usually such a young woman would still be serving in Darnassus. "Are you sure you are in the right place Dellta?" It did not occur to her to question how she knew the acolytes name or how Dellta knew who she was looking for until much later.

"He is this way." Dellta bowed very low as she answered the High Priestess. She then gracefully straightened and turned to lead Tyrande into the South Wing. As they walked, Tyrande could smell a hint of Lilac.

"He is beginning to dream again." Dellta informed her High Priestess as they came to the bedside. "His dreams are the reality he walked to get here, but they are not in order yet. They must be slowed or he will remember ... everything ... before his mind is healed enough to accept ... everything."

Tyrande looked upon the bloodied bandages that covered the man. She could feel his inner turmoil, and she recognized at once the shadow that was trying to consume his mind. She had seen it once before when she had been young, before her closest friend had disappeared.

It had taken years to find out what happened. Then Thyn'tel Bladeweaver told her of a visit from a young Paladiness who had been in a mine in Duskwood, a district in the Eastern Kingdom once called Southern Elwood Forest, but now named Duskwood.

It wasn't until the name of the Paladiness was mentioned that Tyrande knew the story had to be true. Velinde had succumbed to the lure of power granted by the Scythe of Elune. The Scythe had not been found, only the grave of Velinde.

Now, here lay a man with the same type of shadow consuming him. She replaced the cloths on his forehead that helped cool his brow and in touching him, touched the fragments of a dream.

As she watched, this man picked up a slip of paper from a table and read from it.

_Congratulations!_

_The party was more than you should have been granted,_  
_but I am sure it was more for your new wife than for you._  
_I hope you and Magentra have a wonderful life together._

_I am off on a mission into places a newlywed cannot go._  
_There is a rumor that Sidicus is amassing troops which_  
_cannot be good for anyone._

_You take care of yourself and that family you married into._

_Anna_

_PS: Remember to return that favor of mine when you get_  
_the chance. Who knows, I may find someone for_  
_myself yet who knows how to cook._

Fentor smiled and walked to the closet where Anna's favor hung. He began to fold it carefully ...

The dream faded into a jumble of broken images as he turned at a sudden noise from outside that made his blood run cold.

When Tyrande released the mans mind and looked up, Dellta was gone. How could any Human move so quietly?

It had been several days and long nights of observation and herbal ministrations to keep this warrior in as deep a sleep as she dared, but with great results. His mind and his memories were healing. Tyrande was bombarded by snippets of his dreams as she opened herself to him in trying to help him walk an unshattered path back to himself. Until a strong memory surfaced.

This day was not as hot as yesterday, but then living next to Lake Everstill and above the smithie in Lakeshire made every day hot and humid.

Fentor looked up from his work to see his little sister sitting on the end of the dock with his father right next to her; they were both fishing and talking. He thought he might slip out there and join them except as he began to lay aside his tools the hand of his Master was laid gently on his shoulder.

"Let them have their talk, son. It is a hard thing to live under the Gees of Destiny."

'Destiny'...the word echoes in his mind even today. Tyrande Whisperwind heard it again and again as the memories began to run around again. Like when a book is flipped through by only the edges of the pages, the pictures flash for only a moment and then are gone. That was how she watched this girl turn into a young woman, strong in the Light and beautiful with her bright red hair as only a Human could define beauty.

Then the images stopped on a black scene that slowly grew brighter and more distinct. In front of him was a shallow grave. He was in a cave somewhere. And she knew he was younger than in the last memory.

'Destiny'

She had seen this grave before in his mind, but never this clearly ...

'Destiny'

... it echoed again in his mind as she saw him reach out and move a pack moldy with age and disuse. The bottom fell off it and everything fell out. A cloud of dust and released mold blinded him for a moment.

'Destiny'

When he was done sneezing he found he had uncovered the heft of some weapon. Tyrande gasped as she saw the runes on the handle. They were Elvish from a time ancient even in her peoples length of years. As she read the runes she finally understood the nature of this mans' sickness. He had found The Scythe of Elune.

'Destiny'

She watched, mesmerized dread as he reached out and grasped the handle of the weapon.

Tyrande's world shattered. Her mind and his became one as she entered the dream.

The Scythe of Elune had summoned her into this moment of his life.

* * *

**FEAR** as palpable and real as Lake Everstill assailed him/them. The fear of many, the fear of one, fear of being alone, fear of being found, fear of heights, fear of being afraid. The fear of failure, of wolfish looking monsters at midnight, of what had been released into this world, fear of the Worgen.

Tyrande Whisperwind had no choice but to watch as the Scythe pulled her into this memory. One moment she was a witness, the next she had raced forward to become a participant in the events that were unfolding. She was no longer conscious of the sick room she knew they were in. Were they still there?

She decided to pinch herself to test if this was a true reality but found that she was a whisp. But she also felt herself to be whole. Understanding these contradictions, knowing her predicament, she began to add her own fears to this moment.

Like a torrent she/they were saturated and swept away by fear.

Fentor was now rigid with fear. The whites of his eyes shone all around his irises as he stared unblinking at the simple wooden branch and ornately runed handle of the Scythe of Elune. He knew what it was, now that he had touched it. It had him and he knew it. As long as he held the handle he was in its power, but he could not let go. In fact, he could not move at all. He was so afraid he felt his chest begin to ache.

Tyrande felt her fear mingle with Fentors'. The sensation of fear from two persons was almost overpowering even for her. She did not need to guess how it was affecting her host. She began to sing the Prayer of Solace and felt herself enter into the familiar calm her meditations usually brought to her. As she prayed, Fentor also began to draw strength from her prayer. Sounds and smells began to assail her. Sour sweat, dirt, molds, and foremost was the smell of fear. She was no longer a whisp, but a ghostly apparition. Recognizing the effect her whispered prayer had, she began to sing a prayer to Elune of Fortitude and Strength.

**Something, someone was with him, in him, and he could do nothing about it. His eyes began to burn as did his lungs, but he could not even breathe. His mind raced to find answers he could no longer find questions for. He could not think clearly. Both fight and flight were denied him. All that was left was hiding, but all he could do was panic.**

**He heard Death singing. Many were the tales about Death coming for men and women alike, but always it had been a male, and none ever told of Death singing. Death sang with a rich, firm voice. It soothed him almost like his mother's voice did when he had scraped his knee back when …**

**His/Their vision began to fade as he gave himself over to the calm that seemed to flow from Death. Fentor began the long slow fall into unconsciousness. His fear of death as he suddenly understood that even he could die, that he WOULD die right here and now, brought him back from that abyss for a moment.**

That moment was what Tyrande had been waiting for. Her song changed and suddenly Fentor could breathe again. He still could not move, but he could breathe sweet air again. And his vision began to clear, except for a cloudy substance to his left.

'_Be calm, I am with you.'_ The words formed in his mind.

**Death was singing now, or chanting, he did not know which. As his mind cleared, he realized that the song had been there for some time now. Its tune became forever etched into his memory even though he could not understand the words.**

**The song paused for a moment as something huge and horrible took shape in front of him. A Worgen appeared only to turn into a Night Elf Lady. No, the Lady is standing beside the Worgen … the Lady IS the Worgen shifting inconstantly back and forth. It was like looking thru a warped glass pane that was spinning so you could not focus on what you were trying to see. The motion of the vision made Fentor sick to his stomache.**

The song of Death resumed as Death spoke to the unholy vision. 'Velinde Starsong, be at peace sister.'

The Worgen/Woman stopped. It had been advancing towards Fentor hungrily slavering as it neared him, but now it had stopped, and was quiet. It began to search about

'Who are you? A womans' voice, shrill and raw as if it had been screaming for an age of men called out. Where are you? What are you doing here?'

The Lady part of the monster had turned her head slightly to the left while the Worgen part, its large yellow teeth showing thru its hideous drooling smile, kept staring at Fentor. Then they both began to laugh, the lady in a high piercing cackle, the monster in a low slow rumble of greed and death.

Tyrande had stepped forward until the young boy could finally see the woman that he knew was Death. She looked every bit as regal as he had imagined a Night Elf could look.

"Now I know that I am truly mad, for before me I see my childhood friend in the garb of the High Priestess and looking like Elune Herself." Velindes' appearance changed continuously. Now she looked as if she were a Highborne Lady of an anchient court or, Fentor thought, as one must have looked in ages past. "But I know, You are not her." As she spoke she continued to transform and her voice to change. Yet the Worgen remained constant. "I know Elune, I have seen her, I have spoken with her."

* * *

Rina Moonspring entered the room at the appointed hour for her meeting with the High Priestess and sounded the alarm. The High Priestess of Elune was slumped over the warrior, her head upon his breast. It would have been a sweet moment if only Tyrande were asleep, but her eyes were wide open focusing upon and following what no one else could see. Her breathing followed a rhythm and her lips moved as if she was singing, but no words could be heard. Everyone who entered the room could smell the soft caress of Tyrandes' lilac perfume.

Daranelle, the Centurian Expeditions' representative to Darnasus, came up the corridor to the room, "They walk in the same events of the Emerald Dream." She spoke softly as she placed her human half through the doorway, "They should not be moved."

The Sentinels all looked at Daranelle. Her very presence underscored the importance of her message, for she had never before come inside the building. "These two have entered a battle that has been raging for decades already. Some who walk the Emerald Dream have seen the shadows of this battle. These servants must be protected and allowed to finish, no matter what the outcome."

Commander Skyshadow leaned out the open side of the room and issued orders. The guards joined the Explorers League members at the door and a patrol began making round about the house. Even Stronglimb Deeproot became involved with the defense of Sylvanaar by setting a Anchient Protector to walk the paths of the Outpost.

"Do you know what is going on in there?" The acolyte that had come in with Tyrande had been set to the task of warming the towels. She was bringing in an armful just as Daranelle made her pronouncement.

Daranelle looked with unfocused eyes at the young acolyte as she answered. "Destiny is fulfilling itself."

"Look, she is singing a Prayer of Fortitude," one of the many who came at the alarm pointed to the High Priestess. The acolyte sighed contentedly as she laid a warm towel on her Priestess, "They will be safe now." the smell of lilac increased in the room.

Tyrande took another step closer to Velinde and the Worgen that had become attached to her soul. "Do you not remember me Velinde? Can you remember the times we journeyed together in our youth? The times we fought side by side against the Highborne? That time we helped relocate the Furbolg and you fell thru into a cavern? Into what would become their new home? I remember.

"I remember how scared I was when you disappeared in that cave-in and then how hard I laughed when the Furbolgs that went in after you brought you back up covered in grey mud. With twigs and roots that had gotten caught in your hair and garments poking out all over. And you laughing so hard once I finally got thru the Furbolgs you couldn't catch your breath. And when you did you asked me what I thought of your new hairstyle? And neither of us could talk for … Do you remember?"

For a moment all that could be heard was a small young voice humming the song that had bound itself to Fentors' mind.

**Fentor realized he had quietly been humming Deaths' song. Somehow humming the song strengthened and comforted him. If death was such a horrible thing, why did humming her song make him feel stronger?**

"I … remember." Velinde whispered.

Then an unholy roar split the air as the Worgen leapt at Fentor.

* * *

When he became aware again of the others in this vision, Death had taken another step forward. She seemed to glow with a radiance that brightened everything around her. She gestured with her left as she spoke her language to the … demons? Her right hand held a Staff of white with a blue crystal at its top. She wore a white silk dress open in the back from her shoulders, that her blue hair touched lightly on, to her waist where it was gathered on her hips by a pearly white belt that only added to the lustrous radiance of her glow. Her blouse caught and magnified her glow, like a globe magnifies the light of a lantern.

In remembering later on, Fentor decided that the glow did not come from beyond her, but emanated from within her since her form was not revealed in any shadows that would have shown on her dress if the light was from beyond her.

If Fentor could move he would have only knelt and bowed deeper to this apparition, this woman of goddess like beauty, this Death. Even as he thought this, the air was shattered by the roar of the Worgen as he leapt at Fentor.

Tyrande reacted instantly to the attack. Almost before the Worgen was fully extended, she stepped in between the two, spoke a single Word and they were both inside a bubble of amazing strength. No matter how hard the Worgen struck the air between them, he could not get thru the barrier that Tyrande had created. Another gesture and the Worgen was covered in fire. But now the other woman was screaming and clutching the Scythe of Elune with both hands. Her knuckles were white and the staff weapon glowed ominously.

'NO!' He must not let her fight alone. Fentor summoned what strength he had and struggled to rise. Suddenly there was a sound like a single strand of Thorium Steel thread snapping, and a warrior stood in full battle regalia between Fentor the boy and Death. The glow on the Scythe of Elune went out.

The song Fentor heard never stopped, but now a deeper copy of the tune was added to it. The warrior knew how to alter the tune they were singing so that now his voice harmonized with the two higher melody lines. After all, the warrior had been humming this as his battle song his entire life. His skin crawled as he realized just where he was and … with who.

Death stepped aside as the warrior came in front of her and shield slammed the Worgen away from them both, "Hello Princess, know any good healers?"

"Priestess will do." Tyrande narrowed her eyes slightly but smiled at the back of the powerful warrior. Then she changed her song and raised her arms high over her head. Some of the strength left them as Tyrende tightened her fists and ice began to rain down from nowhere. Each bolt of ice hit and burst into flames for a moment all around the Worgen.

When Fentor was a child, when he was lost or frightened, he had nightmares of a battle between a grown man and a monster like the one that stood before him now. The battle he was now fighting was just as he had dreamed it, so many years ago. Deja'vu just did not cover this event.

From his dreams, Fentor knew this was going to be a short fight. But try as he would, he could not seem to kill the Worgen. The woman, what was her name, stood just out of reach screaming things that sometimes hurt Fentor and sometimes healed the Worgen. Fentor had stopped keeping track of her when he was startled by a second and then a third Worgen joining the fight.

This fight should have been over already. It was supposed to be a short fight. As Fentor back peddled to a new position, he glanced over and saw why he did not remember these events happening at all. Fentor had closed his eyes and was slack but still held the Scythe. He was obviously unconscious; he had just not fallen over yet. The flash of healing from the Priestess enveloped them all as Fentor felt a pull on his Buckler and his forearm strap gave way.

At the same time one Worgen had grabbed his shield and broke the strap, another chose to jump over it going for his throat while he was distracted. Lord Dane's drills in automatic reaction were all that saved him. All that saved them all. When the strap broke, Fentor pushed off with his back leg plowing his full weight forward into the three Worgen. The one trying to leap over found a helm in its mouth instead of a throat in its claws. Then Fentor raised his main hand and buried his own claws, his Nexus-Claw, deep into the belly of the Worgen. Its guts spilled out as Fentor pushed the blades all the way down to its pelvic bone.

Another mistake? His arm was now being pulled backwards as the lifeless body began to fall down over his back. His off arm was still held in the remains of the bindings on his shield. _THINK!_

"Do not think, step back!" The words floated into his consciousness and he took a step back. He felt a tug on his backpack but since Tyrande continued to sing, he ignored it as maybe bumping into her.

Now he was under the body again, but it was balanced on his shoulder. "Good Suggestion", Fentor said over his shoulder to nobody.

He opened his off hand and his shield came free of his arm into the hands of the Worgen that had grabbed it. It had just yanked back hard which would have overbalanced Fentor if he had not let go. Now it was the Worgen falling over backwards, and taking some of its friends with it.

Fentor bounced the dead weight and threw his arm forward, dragging the dead Worgen off his shoulder where it fell into the rest of the mob knocking it back for a moment. The action naturally brought his off hand behind him where he slipped it into the sleeve his sister had attached to his backpack. He grabbed the handle that he knew was there and in a grand sweeping motion he withdrew his Void-Talon and cut the throat of the next Worgen as it got too close. It had taken only a moment for him to unsheathe his Void-Talon and set into his En-Guard position, then he activated the enhancement the Engineers placed on it. As the blades began to vibrate, making them deadlier than any fist weapon known in the Outlands, he threw himself into the attack again.

Tyrandes' Starshards attack was raining icy shards down on the Worgen and Velinde when the Scythe of Elune came alive again. "We must move, this is not a defensible place. We are all but surrounded." More Worgen began to materialize even as she began to cast about for a better place to fight from.

Each swing of his fist weapons had become an exercise in agony. "We cannot … move … from this … place." Fentor spoke between each swing. "The … boy will … die." Fentor's words were punctuated by the blows he was receiving and giving, and by his own ragged breaths.

"We must move. The boys' death is regrettable, but if we are to live, the Human child must be abandoned." Tyrande saw a place where they could be slightly above the mob. "This way!"

"NO PRINCESS! YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND!" A Worgen landed a blow to Fentors' temple as he turned to look at Tyrande. Stunned, he swung with almost no strength in his blows. He never lost his feet though, so after a few seconds he was able to fight as before. In his mind he heard a whisper; "Hold on Fentor, I am almost upon you."

Tyrande whispered her prayer of renewal over Fentor who fought off the disorientation of the stunning blow. He healed back to his original strength. "I am NOT a princess." Tyrande stated thru clenched teeth. Then standing fuller erect she declared, "I am Tyrande Wisperwind, High Priestess of the Temple of …"

"Tyrande Whisperwind"

"Tyrande Whisperwind"

"Tyrande Whisperwind"

Tyrande stopped speaking as she heard her name echoing from every direction.

"Fine, Priestess then! If we move," Fentor shrugged his head towards the boy, "**I** DIE! "

The shock as Tyrande fully understood what Fentor said riveted her to the ground. She berated herself for not having seen this before. She knew she had been summoned into the Warriors' dreams. Of course it was he as a boy; of course it was he fighting beside her; But what else could they do? Already, if it were not for her Shield, they would be overrun.

From their right, a new presence could be felt and heard bearing down on them. Powerful and furious it came closer. Nothing stood in its way Trees or stone, everything seemed to move aside at his approach. When he reached the rise Tyrande had seen and wanted to be at, a great form leapt into the air and fell amidst the Worgen with a terrible roar.

One word, one whisper, escaped Tyrandes' lips. "Malfurion".

Velinde was so focused on Tyrande and Fentor she never saw or heard Malfurions' approach. He landed on Velindes' back, knocking the Scythe from her hands and snapping her neck as her head was thrown backwards with the impact.

Immediately two things happened; The Scythe of Elune stopped glowing, and the Worgen began to flee. But there was no place for them to hide. Whichever ones Fentor could not reach, Tyrande struck down with her magics, or Malfurion ran down and shredded.

When the last Worgen was dead, Malfurion returned and caught up Tyrande into a great hug. They danced round and round like this, kissing and hugging and whispering to each other for what became an embarrassing amount of time for Fentor. Most of what they said was lost to him for it was in the language of the Night Elves.

"I knew you were alive my love. All this time, I knew you were alive."

"All what time my precious Tyrande? I have been here but a short while."

"You entered a trance to wander the Emerald Dream after we destroyed Archemonde when he attacked Nordrassil." And she explained how the battle was won.

"So that is how we defeat then!" Malfurion held Tyrande at arms length, "I will do it, even as you have said."

As Tyrande saw the determination galvanizing in her loves eyes, Fentors actions diverted her attention.

"Look", Fentor spoke, "Velinde is in the same position now, on top of the Scythe of Elune, as she was when I first found her those many years ago." As Fentor knelt next to Velinde, he unknowingly matched the kneeling form of his younger self. "And the handle is right here just as …" Fentor touched the handle of the Scythe and the world faded away.

Tyrande was once again kneeling next to the bed of the Warrior with her head on his chest. As she took a deep breath, she smelled the light scent of lilacs. Before she blinked her eyes, she saw that the room was full of people. But before the people saw that Tyrande was awake, she saw through the press of bodies a young acolyte walk into the Moonwell next to the main entry where she vanished.

Fentor left the house a few days later. He never turned back to look one last time on the building where he had been delivered from the shadow of defeat he had walk in his entire life, he had vowed to leave it all behind.

"Hail friend!" A man came in through the main entryway to the Outpost as Fentor was walking out. "Where would I find the Inn and maybe some good strong drink?"

"Up ahead of you, on the left."

"And whom should I tell them sent me?"

"Lanzeki, The Knight of Shadows."


	10. Chapter 10: Lovers Dance

Hysal slowly walked up to the small campfire looking pensive as all eyes in the camp began to look at him expectantly. After all, didn't he wear the light blue sash of the College of Heralds? Hadn't he worn the cloak of the Title Bard for several years, defending his right to wear it every Festival Season?

He began with no preamble:

"Deep in the palace of the King of Nagrand, once located somewhere north of Talaar and south east of Halaa, there was a courtyard filled with flowers of every description and color. If you stood or sat in the middle of this courtyard, under the pavilion shaped in iron by an artist knowledgeable in the way curves intersect as only the master of frost can make perfect, and turn slowly about, you saw all the colors in the rainbow laid out before you in succession. But only from this place may the profusion of colors and shapes make sense to the human brain. For that was the will of the Master Gardener to please his King.

"On a certain moonless night in the spring, strange flowers imported from Zangarmarsh would bloom in the night air, flowers that appeared to glow with a light all their own. And each flower would shed its own color light for just one night, fading as the sun rose in the heavens. It is on this night of glorious nights when all the flowers seemed to compete to be the brightest and most beautiful that the concubines of the king would circle the pavilion and await the inspection of their lover. For on this night the king would choose his favorite until the next year when the time the night flowers bloomed would once again bring magic to the gardens. The retiring favorite would live in splendor in the Queens apartments for the rest of her life, but never again see her King.

"The women stopped suddenly and clustered in the open archway that led into the Garden as they saw the King had already arrived and was lying on his pillows under the pavilion. Lately, the king had been having dreams that intrigued him and heightened his desires. And so it was that on this night he had expectations like he had not had in many years, which was as unusual in what had become the traditions of this night as was his being in the pavilion before the women assembled.

"Then one woman began to move toward the pavilion. Her entire form was totally covered in silks which seemed to whisper as she danced her way into the Garden. Of course, she immediately caught the eye of the King who watched her as she circled all the way around the pavilion. Gracefully she danced with soft movements until she returned to the front of the pavilion where she crossed her legs as she lowered herself into a sitting position directly in front of the King and then walked her hands out on the ground in front of her until she had bowed down with her arms stretched out towards the King with her forehead touching the ground.

"Their feet making almost no sound, the rest of the women entered until they stood in their places around the pavilion. Their chosen leader stood directly behind the woman who still sat in front of the King. Until the Majordomo came up beside her and motioned that she was to move to the empty space further down the line.

"Then the king reached toward the silk covered woman with his scepter, "Arise, and dance for me."

"She swept her arms out about her in a wide arc and then returned to her bow. Then her hands began to move in rhythmic circles and gestures. Slowly her arms and then shoulders joined into the dance as she sat up straight then bowed and undulated never once losing the focus of her King to her hands which were in constant motion. Still sitting, her upper body swayed to the right and the left, forwards and backwards she bent and twisted. As she spun upwards off the floor to her feet a veil became detached from her head revealing a very complex arrangement of braids held together by two ornaments, one of silver and the other of gold. The ornaments now began to jingle in rhythm to her movements as she swept her head from side to side in the dance.

"It was clear the King had made his choice and the two of them needed to be alone. The Majordomo quietly led the other women away from the pavilion while purposefully placing himself between the senior woman and his King as the veiled woman continued to dance.

"With the loss of each veil her dance became more complicated, more enticing, more revealing. With each new complication added to the dance, another veil floated free of its restraint to rest upon the floor, and another ornament was released to add its music to her dancing.

"When the king began to unfasten his own clothes, the woman swirled up to him and placed a hand upon his and a finger upon his lips. This was the only time she nearly stopped moving, yet her feet continued to move almost of their own accord.

"Now that he was still again, she looked up for permission placing her hand upon the fastenings that held the ornamental sword scabbard to his belt. At a nod from her liege she opened the clips and removed the heavy decoration. She took two steps backwards and placed the tip of the ornament upon the ground between them before beginning a new series of movements using the sword as the center of this new dance.

"When she had danced for what seemed to the King a mere moment, she picked up the sword again and, twirling in place, removed the sword from the scabbard.

"The King naturally stepped back a bit, but the woman never moved closer to him. Instead, she balanced the sword upon her head and began yet another series of movements with the scabbard while never losing the balance of the sword.

"When she was had shown her King how nimble she was and how well she could balance the sword upon her head, she replaced the sword in its' scabbard and set it aside at the entrance to the pavilion. Then she began to circle the King, seemingly touching him at random with her hands while removing his outer garments as it became suddenly loose and laying it upon its own pillow. With each circuit of his body she removed another piece of his clothing until he was standing with her in his arms as naked as she was; but not quite naked enough to relieve the pressures that had been building in him since her dance began almost two hours before.

"When she encouraged him to lay back down upon the pillows, she sat upon his still covered abdomen and, lacing her fingers into his, slid his hands up her sides in time to the gyrations of her now glistening body. When his hands reached their goal, she released them and continued to raise her hands to her head where she pulled free the decorative ornaments that held her long white hair in place. Then she leaned forward as her hair fell free creating a curtain as she placed her lips upon his.

"In the morning, the silks lay mingled together with the clothes of the King over the cushions where they had fallen. Those and two of her hair ornaments were all that was left in the garden of the woman. In their midst lay the King.

"The two ornaments scintillating in the rising sun and tingling in the morning breeze caught the eyes of the Majordomo just before he died too. The gold one was in the Kings right ear, and the Silver one in his left."

Hysal bowed and walked off as those gathered thought of the messages and meanings they knew were buried in the story.

"You promised not to tell." A whisper in the dark caught up to him as he passed through the arch that marked the boundary of their campsite.

Hysal smiled but never stopped walking, "I did not tell. I merely entertained our guests with a tale that may be more truth than fiction. But I did not even tell them that either."

"The mission was a success, why do you continue to seek to embarrass me with reminders of it?" The 'shadow' kept pace with Hysal without ever causing the bushes to rustle or move or in any other way to give away her presence.

"Because, cousin, your mission was to embarrass him in front of his Generals, not lay out his dead body for his wives."

"You said be imaginative …"

"I did."

"And you said Seneca was the real power behind the throne."

"I did."

"So I sent her a message that allowed her to see how fortunate she could be in league with us instead of in battle against us. She, as Queen, chose to ally herself, and her family, and then her kingdom, with us."

"She did. But her Generals chose to lead a revolt so we had to fight a war after all."

"Fun, wasn't it?"

"Eno." Hysal growled to the empty air around him since his shadow had left.


End file.
